


Staccato

by mnwood



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aromantic Dean, Canon Compliant, Case Fic, Fluff, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Castiel, Season/Series 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:04:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4809020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnwood/pseuds/mnwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happens gradually. There is no cliff to jump off of or wall to hit or any other analogy of suddenness that Castiel expected.</p><p>Instead, there are increased touches. Longer looks. A brush of lips on knuckles, shoulders, cheeks, lips. Quiet confessions turn into assertions. </p><p>It happens gradually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Staccato

**Author's Note:**

> I took [this fic](http://deancasheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/128308993866/it-happens-gradually-there-is-no-cliff-to-jump) and made it longer.
> 
> Canon-compliant except Charlie is alive lol.
> 
> Shout-out to my summer in Utah for helping me write this.

It happens gradually. There is no cliff to jump off of or wall to hit or any other analogy of suddenness that Castiel expected.

Instead, there are increased touches. Longer looks. A brush of lips on knuckles, shoulders, cheeks, lips. Quiet confessions turn into assertions. 

It happens gradually.

Something breaks in Cas in the aftermath of Rowena’s spell. It claws at his insides—a less physical sensation than the Leviathan, more physical than Naomi's control—and makes its way through his mind in a swirling mass.

When he wakes from it, the first thing he sees is the whites of Dean’s eyes. Staring at him, too close, angry. Scared. Something is different, and it takes Castiel about five seconds to register that he can no longer see Dean’s soul through his corporeal form.

“Cas? Cas, you with me?”

He looks down at his own hands, stretching them out in front of him as if he’s on display. He flexes his fingers. He turns his wrists and examines his fingernails.

He is human.

His grace had been more of a tether than a part of him the past few months. It was so twisted and mangled after he retrieved it from Metatron that it weighed on him like chains around his heart, around his tattered wings, around his hands and feet. A poor imitation of what it once was.

“Cas, buddy, say something. Please.”

The something that breaks—it’s his resolve.

“What am I doing here?” he asks his hands.

“You—do you remember anything, Cas?” Sam says, concerned, from where he’s leaning against the table a few feet behind Dean.

“I don’t remember coming here.” He looks between Dean and Sam, accusatory.

“We found you,” Dean asserts. “I called you to ask…I called you, and you passed out. We tracked your phone’s GPS and found you with blood in your eyes, and-and—”

“You almost died, Cas,” Sam finishes. “You’ve been here for three days.”

“Is Rowena—”

“We don’t know, and we don’t care,” Dean interrupts. “That spell, Cas, it—there’s something bad going on. We need your help, man.”

“Excuse me?”

“I—we—it’s some pre-biblical shit, and we don’t know—”

“How long was I under Rowena’s spell?”

“Um, it was a few weeks, but—”

“And how often did you look for me during those few weeks? How often did you think of me?”

“Cas, we don’t have time for this! Thousands of people are dying, and we’ve got—”

“Do you even _remember_ nearly killing me?”

His resolve—apparently his resolve was “do whatever pleases Dean.”

Sam steps out of the room and shuts the door behind him.

“We were family once,” Cas says, softly this time.

“Cas, we’re still—I-I don’t know what to say.”

“I understand, you know. You were under the effects of the Mark of Cain for a long time, Dean. And you were a demon. I can’t exactly fault you for your behavior then.” Cas takes a deep breath and finds satisfaction in the air moving through his lungs. “But you left me homeless, human and defenseless when the entire host of heaven was after me. You did not care when I was dying from stolen grace. You did not care when I was under Rowena’s spell, and you did not consider apologizing for your behavior once the Mark was removed from your arm.” He looks past Dean and toward the door. “And Sam just left, knowing full well that he has not treated me like a friend in the past year.”

Dean scratches the back of his neck and stands. “I’m going to go talk to Sam.”

Cas lets him leave.

They apologize.

In actions, words, the spaces between moments. They do not tread lightly around Cas, but deliberately include him, ask him how he’s doing, give him a room in the bunker.

The bunker.

There is little fanfare when he moves in. He watches as Dean fits sheets over his bed and dusts off the nightstand. Dean pats Cas on the shoulder on his way out the door, says, “Welcome home,” and leaves to do research with Sam.

It doesn’t feel like home.

After two weeks, Cas offers all the information he knows about the Darkness. Sam and Dean stare at him blankly, then Dean looks down at the table to hide the smile making its way across his face. It doesn’t mean that Cas has fully forgiven them, but he is on his way.

They defeat the enemy by Christmas.

Castiel tries eggnog for the first time and falls asleep with his head pillowed on Charlie’s lap. On December 26, the four of them drive to Sioux Falls and help Jody with a small case. She buys them all coffee afterward.

One day Dean gets frustrated at Cas for not soaking his dishes before putting them in the dishwasher— _you know the dishwasher is shit, Cas!—_ and Cas nods before returning to his room and letting himself laugh. In the few months he’s been living with the Winchesters, he had almost forgotten the harsh way in which Dean used to treat him.

Now, Sam and Dean treat Castiel with a softness that he’s never seen in them before. Their lives are slower, the world is not at stake, the people they know are becoming friends instead of burned bodies.

Castiel is beginning to feel like family again. The bunker is beginning to feel like home.

On a lazy morning soon after Dean’s birthday, Sam tells them there’s a big case in Utah. Multiple cities. Could take weeks. Sam says he’s not coming.

The drive out is quiet, the peaceful sort of quiet that makes it easy to stare out the window for hours feeling invigorated by rolling grass. Dean tells Cas that he’s going to start looking for a motel 30 minutes before they stop at one. They eat cheeseburgers and fries on their respective beds with the TV playing in front of them. Dean says, “Night, Cas,” before turning off the lamp and falling asleep.

In the morning, Dean smacks Cas on the arm to wake him up. He calls him “sleepyhead” and tosses a sausage biscuit at him and laughs at Cas’ grumbling.

They still have several more hours of driving to do before they get to Utah, and after Dean yawns for the fourth time Cas asks if he would like to switch.

“Hmm?” Dean grunts.

“Switch. As in I drive, _sleepyhead.”_

Dean glares at him for half a second before turning his attention back to the road. He speeds up significantly, and neither of them says anything for the next few miles. At a rest stop, Dean pulls into a parking spot and tosses the keys at Cas before heading toward the bathroom.

Cas smiles as he drives for the next two hundred miles. Dean stares out the window and occasionally points at a mountain or a herd of cattle so that Cas doesn’t miss out on anything. When they pass the _Welcome to Utah_ sign, Dean insists that they switch back so he can begin looking for a place to stop.

They arrive at a Motel 6 in Ogden and throw their duffel bags in their room before Dean pulls on the corner of Cas’ coat and tells him that he’s hungry. Cas follows Dean straight back out to the car, and they go to a bar inside of a big building and down some stairs.

“Fuck, is this a gay joint?” Dean asks under his breath while he scans the establishment.

There’s a table full of women in the corner, many of them androgynous, and most of them are coupled off rather obviously. The bartender is wearing short shorts and rainbow socks that go up to her knees, and Dean eyes her before taking a seat.

“What’ll you boys have tonight?” she asks cheerfully once she’s made her way back behind the bar.

“You got food here?” Dean replies loudly over the din of the music.

She nods and turns to retrieve menus. Dean turns to look at Cas, raising his eyebrows at him in a question that Cas can’t quite decipher without words. Both of their attention snaps back to the bartender when she sets menus down in front of them.

“So what brings you guys here?”

“Business,” Dean replies mechanically without looking up from the menu.

“Really? Business brings you to a drag show?”

That gets Dean’s attention. “That what the extra charge was for at the door?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, she’s really funny. Show starts in about 20 minutes.”

Dean turns to Cas with a panicked expression, so Cas tries to soothe him with a hand to his back. Dean immediately tenses up.

“Can we get two double cheeseburgers, and extra fries with his, please?” Cas asks. “And whatever beer is on tap.”

“Sure thing,” the bartender replies with a strangely smug smile on her face.

“Dude, I bet everybody in here is gay,” Dean complains.

“Why does that matter?”

Dean looks at Cas like he’s crazy. “It doesn’t, I guess. Just weird is all.”

They’ve both had two beers and half their burgers by the time the performance begins. After the first scene, the drag queen breaks character in order to call out people in the crowd. She asks who in the room is straight, and about a quarter of the people answer. About half the people answer when she asks who’s gay. 

“Anybody else out there that I missed? What about those bisexuals and transgender folks? Any of you cuties here tonight?”

Dean throws back the remainder of his beer and slams the glass on the bar.

Cas misses much of the performance and instead becomes distracted watching the table full of women who seem to be smitten with one another. They are all friends, and they also each have a partner within the group. Cas wishes he was friends with them.

Dean drinks four more beers and two glasses of whiskey before the night is over, and Cas can see where his stomach strains against his t-shirt with the weight of the liquid. He offers to drive and suggests that Dean use the bathroom before they leave. Then he takes one more glance over at the table of lesbians and heads toward the stairs.

Dean trips and falls against him on their walk back to the Impala. Assuming Dean’s too drunk to care, Cas takes the risk of wrapping an arm around his waist to help him stay on his feet. Dean slings an arm over Cas’ shoulder and laughs.

“Those lesbians were cute,” he says, his speech slurred.

“Yes, I agree.”

“Wish I was a lesbian.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing.”

On the car ride back, he falls asleep with his head against the window.

Back at the motel, Cas unbuckles his own seatbelt and then reaches over to settle his palm against Dean’s shoulder. Dean jerks awake with a deep inhale and then relaxes when he sees Cas. His eyes fall closed again, his body slumps sideways.

“Dean, we need to go inside. You can’t sleep in the car.”

“Used…do it...all…time.”

“I understand, but you paid for this motel room. I can help you inside if you wish.”

Dean whines and fumbles with the door handle. Cas gets out of the car and helps him, but Dean pushes him away (with more whining) and face plants onto his bed once inside.

It takes Cas a while to yank the covers out from under Dean so he can tuck him in properly. Suddenly Dean flops an arm out and grabs the fabric of Cas’ coat.

“Wha’s happen me?”

“You’re drunk, Dean.”

“But I never…” He passes out.

“You haven’t drank more than two beers a few nights a week since last year,” Cas says to no one. “Alcohol affects you now.”

Dean’s hangover accounts for their late start the next morning, and he makes strange noises while they get ready—like he’s clearing his throat or sighing or grumbling or _something_. He allows Cas to drive to the first house, where they interview a mother and her son about the father’s unexpected death in the Salt Lake City airport. Dean drinks three cups of the offered coffee and is acting a lot more like himself by the time they leave.

They discuss the interview while they walk to the car, but once the doors are closed Dean says, “I haven’t been hungover since—never mind.”

“What is it, Dean?”

“I, uh—after I thought Charlie was dead, and after I…”

“Nearly murdered me. Continue.”

Dean glares at Cas, and Cas glares back. “I drank. Probably would’ve died if the Mark wasn’t keeping me alive, that’s how much I drank. That’s the last time I was hungover.”

Cas breaks eye contact with Dean and stares out the windshield. Dean sighs and reaches for the gearshift. They drive to the next interview in silence, the houses a dizzying blur as Cas’ eyes go in and out of focus.

He asks the next interviewee an inappropriate question, something off topic and socially awkward, and Dean slaps a hand to his shoulder and fumbles to cover for his blunder.

Cas feels embarrassed for the rest of the day, a nagging feeling like peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth. He avoids eye contact with Dean and tries to shake it off when Dean gives him concerned stares.

When they wrap up for the day late that night, Dean doesn’t even ask before pulling into a Carl’s Jr. and ordering burgers for them both.

“I miss my kitchen,” Dean comments before digging into his burger.

“I miss your cooking.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

Dean smiles shyly and doesn’t continue eating. “Thanks, Cas.”

That night, Dean talks in his sleep. At first Cas thinks it might be a nightmare, but then Dean starts saying some nonsense about not knowing what to do with some razors, and Cas laughs to himself and falls back asleep. The next time he wakes up, it’s to the sound of Dean humming softly in the shower.

Castiel is dead on his feet by the end of the second day, and Dean rubs the sore spot between his shoulder blades as they walk to the car together. Cas groans, Dean clears his throat. When they get back to the motel, Dean locks himself in the bathroom for several minutes.

“Should’ve gone to Salt Lake first,” Dean says the next morning as he scrolls through his phone.

“Something happen?”

“No, but we should go to Logan today. Which means if we _do_ want to go to Salt Lake, we’ll have to backtrack.”

“What’s in Logan?”

“Sounds like a haunting. Or something. I don’t know, just pack your shit and let’s go.” Dean tosses his phone on the table and sighs. He hasn’t been that short with Cas in a while.

Cas obeys without another word.

As soon as they’re in the car, Dean turns to Cas and says, “Hey.”

Cas narrows his eyes at him.

“I didn’t mean to—I’m just in a bad mood is all. Shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Good. Um, so. Logan. We’ll probably have to do a stakeout tonight near the movie theater. Been a couple of strange coincidences.”

As Dean continues talking about their game plan, Cas rests his head back against the seat and tries not to drift off. An unspecified amount of time later, Dean startles him awake with a slap to his shoulder.

“Hey, sleepyhead, am I boring you?” Dean asks, sounding mildly offended.

“Yes, apparently.”

“You hungry?”

“Get me something if you stop, but otherwise I’m going back to sleep.”

The next time Dean wakes Cas up, they’re in the parking lot of a dingy motel on the outskirts of town and Dean is holding a takeout bag from Chick-fil-A.

“I thought you hated Chick-fil-A,” Cas says as he stumbles out of the car and rubs sleep from his eyes.

Dean shrugs. “Yeah, but _you_ don’t. C’mon.”

Cas trips on the curb, and Dean catches him under the elbow. He asks if he’s all right, and then he leaves the palm of his hand against the small of Cas’ back all the way up to the door.

The room is small, and they adjust to the change with a strange sort of dance around one another. They turn when they pass, sidestep one another, scoot across the walls and spin into the bathroom. They are too close, yet the distance between them has never felt greater.

At the stakeout that night, Dean talks on the phone with Sam for the first 10 minutes, and then he hands the phone to Cas for the next 10 minutes. A person passes by at the half-hour mark, but nothing else of worth happens. One hour in, Dean reaches across the center console and pats Cas’ knee. Cas stares at him, but Dean keeps looking forward.

On the drive home, Dean says they should check out another part of town the following night. Cas stares down at his knee.

Dean hits Cas’ foot the next morning to wake him up, and then he hands him a cup from Einstein Brothers and says, “Hurry up and get ready, we got interviews.”

“You could at least say ‘please,’” Cas grumbles back.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a grump in the morning. Got it.”

Cas curses under his breath, downs half his coffee, and wonders how a human being like Dean could be so chipper in the morning.

Dean turns the radio up in the car and taps the steering wheel to the beat of the music. When the drums are particularly intense, he switches between tapping the steering wheel and tapping Cas’ shoulder or leg. After their first round of interviews, the tapping turns to patting a single hand in a steady rhythm on Cas’ thigh. They don’t talk about it.

They don’t have time to stop for lunch, but Great Harvest has free bread and Dean nearly punches a wall in excitement over it. The lady cutting the bread gives him an extra piece and a wink. Dean doesn’t shut up about it for the rest of the day.

During their stakeout that night, Dean pats Cas’ knee again around the hour mark. A few minutes later, he deliberately rubs his thigh and then leaves his hand there. His thumb occasionally draws circles against Cas’ pant leg, and they don’t talk about it.

Nothing happens after three hours. Dean turns to look at Cas, and Cas turns to look at Dean. They stare for so long that Cas’ heart begins pounding in his ears like he’s anticipating something, and he doesn’t know what but it never comes. Dean says, “I’m calling it a night,” and moves his hand from Cas’ thigh to the gearshift. Cas exhales a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

The following morning Cas is brushing his teeth in the bathroom, and Dean sleepily walks in and starts washing his face like he’s not severely invading Cas’ personal space. They smile at each other through the mirror, a silent agreement that it’s OK.

That night, they don’t go out or turn on the TV. They sit on the edges of their respective beds, facing each other, knees knocking, and they discuss the case. Discussing the case turns into an existential crisis concerning the parameters of their existence and the implications of the extended lives they’ve lived. Dean closes the conversation with, “You know, I’ve died and I’ve died, but I’ve never stopped being afraid of dying.”

Cas falls asleep wondering what will happen to him when he dies.

He feels even groggier than usual in the morning, but when he spots the coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts he immediately brightens. Dean knows what Cas likes for breakfast and he knows how to make his coffee, and Cas knows the Einstein Brothers is much closer than the Dunkin’ Donuts but Dean went to the latter anyway just for his sake. He smiles down at the white cup and ignores the fact that he can feel Dean staring at him from across the room.

They stare a lot. During interviews, Dean stares at Cas while Cas talks and Cas stares at Dean while Dean talks. They try to look at the interviewee when they answer, but the sidelong glances are becoming more obvious each day.

They have always stared, of course. But there is something different now, something fundamentally different in the way they stare. Cas can feel something building in his chest, something that makes his heart hammer when he holds Dean’s eyes for too long, but he has no idea what it is and he doesn’t know how to ask about it.

During their final stakeout in Logan, Dean begins rubbing Cas’ knee at the hour mark just like last time. Except this time, Cas reciprocates by covering Dean’s hand with his own and tracing his fingertips over his knuckles. Dean’s hand tenses and then relaxes, and they don’t talk about it.

When they return to their room late that night, they immediately go to bed. However, as they’re lying in the dark, Dean says, “You know, I was always so afraid of losing you.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean. It’s-it’s why I treated you like shit, man. I was terrified.”

“You needed me. I was useful to you.”

“No, Cas! Listen to me—I know I haven’t been—I’m not always—I don’t—”

“You’ve been there for me, Dean. We’ve had difficult times, but you have been…the closest friend I’ve had even when you—we didn’t behave like friends.”

Dean shifts in bed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I only called when I needed you.”

Castiel closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Thank you, Dean. You are forgiven.”

They lie in silence until Cas believes Dean is asleep. But then he asks how it’s been since he lost his grace, and that spurs a conversation that lasts for so long that Cas’ eyes adjust to the dark and he can see the outline of Dean’s arms gesturing above his bed as he speaks, and Cas is certain he’s saying something very important but it’s very late and Dean’s voice is very calming…

_“Sometimes I feel like I’ll die without ever having loved anybody right.”_

Cas dreams that Dean is in bed with him.

The drive to Bear Lake is breathtakingly gorgeous. Staring out the window attempting to take all of it in drains Castiel of his energy, and he falls asleep with his head uncomfortably positioned on Dean’s shoulder. Dean shakes him awake and pulls him by the hand all the way to the motel room. “Why are there whales on the walls?” Cas asks groggily before falling on top of his bed and immediately going to sleep. He wakes up under his covers, his head on a pillow, and Dean says, “We’re at the lake. The rooms are ocean-themed.” 

As they’re eating lunch that afternoon, Cas reads the label on a bottle of ketchup in an attempt to figure out why it tastes so good. Dean sets his burger down and wipes his hands together before reaching across the booth and taking the ketchup from Cas. “Eat your food, man,” he explains. Then he holds Cas’ hand up, leans forward, and kisses him on the knuckles without even a hint of a blush on his cheeks.

When they get out to the car, Cas slides his hand over to Dean’s lap and tangles their fingers together. Dean laughs and kisses his knuckles again.

They interview a crying woman in her cabin up the mountain a ways, and Cas comforts her while Dean asks questions. Cas feels a heaviness in his chest as he squeezes her shoulder and rubs her back, and he wishes for nothing more than to bring her wife back to her. She hugs him for a long time before they leave, and Cas makes eye contact with Dean over her shoulder. Dean smiles sadly and guides Cas out with a hand to the small of his back.

“Hey,” he says before they get in. “You were good in there, you know that?” He doesn’t let Cas respond before he kisses his temple and climbs into the driver’s seat.

Cas feels nervous, and he doesn’t know why.

“Let’s check out the lake, huh?” Dean suggests with a sympathetic smile.

They roll up their suit pants and take off their jackets and ties and shoes and socks, and maybe they still look out of place but the sand is warm and rocky and the water is calm and clear.

Cas watches as Dean sits at the edge of the water and clasps his hands together around his knees. He’s looking up at the sky, and Cas is mesmerized by the calm he sees in his friend’s features.

“Why you staring at me, Cas?” Dean asks, still looking up at the sky.

“You look peaceful.”

Dean turns his head and squints at him. “You think this is what the ocean’s like?”

Cas looks out at the water. “No. There are waves in the ocean. This water is stagnant. Also, I can see mountains in the distance. You can’t see mountains across the ocean.”

Dean huffs a laugh and looks down at the water’s edge. “We should, uh, go to the beach sometime. The real beach.”

“I’m surprised you’ve never worked a case near the beach before.”

“We did. We have. We just, uh, didn’t take the time to stop.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “Too much other crap going on, I don’t know. Nothing…mattered back then I guess.”

“What’s changed?”

Dean turns again and looks at Cas, and his eyes briefly flick down to Cas’ mouth and then back up to his eyes. “I don’t know.”

That night, Dean comes over to sit on Cas’ bed as they debrief about the day. They are sitting close enough to touch, to taste, but instead they steal glances at one another’s bodies and pretend like the conversation is professional. Dean kisses the top of Cas’ head and says, “Night, Cas,” before retiring to his own bed.

In the morning, Dean wakes Cas up by stroking his face with his thumb, and Cas’ eyes flutter open to see a bright smile _—_ a secret thing just for him. Dean leans down and kisses Cas on the forehead. “You’re cute in the morning,” he says.

Two people die within an hour, miles away from each other. There is seemingly nothing to connect them, and there were no warnings that Cas and Dean could’ve recognized in order to save them.

Even so, Dean lets out his frustration in the form of cursing and smacking his hands against the outside of his car, and Cas soothes him with light touches to his shoulders and a hug from behind.

Cas matches the pattern of Dean's breathing as they stand pressed together outside of the Impala. Eventually, Dean’s heart rate slows and one of his hands drops from the edge of the car to Cas’ hand at his waist. He turns around in Cas’ arms and hugs him properly. “Thanks, Cas,” he whispers against his skin.

They don’t talk much on the drive back to Salt Lake, but Dean squeezes Cas’ knee and rubs his hand along the outside of his thigh. Cas picks up Dean’s hand and kisses his knuckles. Dean comments on the fact that he was right about backtracking to Salt Lake. Cas reminds him that they have to go back toward Salt Lake in order to go home anyway.

They are exhausted by the time they arrive, and Dean pulls into a Radisson. “Sick of motels” is the only explanation he gives as he carries both his and Cas’ duffel bags to the room.

There is only one bed in the room. They sleep on opposite sides of it and don’t say anything about it.

Finally, on day 16 of the case, they figure out that people keep dying because of cursed objects. Smart phones from Verizon were stored in a warehouse for a week before shipping out to Utah. Stored under a ladder. In a town where a witch with superstitions and a sense of humor lives. 

Sam laughs at them over the phone.

They spend the day in their hotel room calling every Verizon store in a 100-mile radius. Pretending to be public relations for a software developing company, they explain that iPhones sold in the last two weeks need to be recalled. Nobody listens to them.

Sam and Dean fight over the phone.

_“I’m not driving back to all those cities and stealing iPhones, Sammy! Yes, of course I care if people die, but—send someone else! We got Salt Lake, but we’ll never get to Ogden and Logan and Brigham City and—yes. Thank you.”_

He slams his phone shut and commands, “Come on,” as he grabs his keys and heads out the door. Cas decides not to take it personally.

Dean takes a deep breath and apologizes to Cas in the car anyway.

Cas reassures him by patting his shoulder in solidarity.

Destroying every Verizon store’s stock of iPhones takes an entire night.

When they get back to the hotel just after sunrise, Cas sits on the bed and pulls his own phone out to try to get some research done so they can find the cursed phone holders’ houses and confiscate the devices. When Dean emerges from the shower, he flops onto his stomach and scoots himself up until his head is resting in Cas’ lap, his arm wrapped around his thighs.

Cas turns the lamp off and strokes Dean’s wet hair until he begins to snore softly.

They wake up in the middle of the day, the bed unruffled, Cas sitting back against the headboard with his arms wrapped loosely around Dean’s back. Dean greets him with a sleepy smile, a yank of his hand to his mouth for a sloppy kiss. Castiel feels nervous, and he doesn’t know why.

It takes several hours to track down all the names and addresses of people who bought iPhones from Verizon in the past few weeks. It’s another all-nighter and well into the next day before they finally wrap up the case.

Dean calls Sam again to make sure he sent some other hunters to the rest of the affected cities. When he hangs up, his whole body relaxes for the first time in what feels like days. Cas instinctively goes to him and grabs the back of his head and pulls him toward his chest. Dean moves willingly, melting into Cas’ arms like it’s natural.

“This shit drains me more than it used to, man,” Dean says in the car.

“In what way?”

“I don’t know, dude. I just—I can’t shake it off anymore. It just gets to me more than when I was a kid.”

“Do you feel old, Dean?”

“Well, _now_ I do. Thanks, asshole.” He punches Cas’ arm playfully.

“You’ve lived a long time,” Cas says seriously. “It would make sense for you to feel more burdened as time passes.”

“Yeah, well, it sucks.”

“I agree. Having someone to share the burden with, however, is more appreciated the greater the burden is.”

Dean clears his throat and swallows. “It’s been a while since you got all philosophical and shit. Cut it out, man.”

Cas smiles and looks out the window.

Too tired to drive back to Lebanon, they stay in the Radisson one more night. Dean sneaks up behind Cas as he’s brushing his teeth. One arm snakes around his midsection, and the other peels Cas’ collar back just enough to land a kiss on his shoulder. “Let’s go to bed,” Dean whispers against his skin.

Castiel is nervous again, but this time he thinks he understands why. He’s beginning to see something in Dean he’s never allowed himself to see. Something that’s always been there, always between them, never spoken, never considered. Something that should've felt more like falling off a cliff, less like coming home.

Dean gets in bed first, and Cas has no idea what the protocol is here. He tentatively pulls the covers back. Dean grabs his arm and pulls him close so they’re staring at each other in the dark.

They stare for a long time.

“You’re it for me, you know,” Dean says, and Cas has to replay it in his head over and over before it makes sense.

It never makes sense.

“I don’t understand.”

Dean pinches his eyebrows together like that’s not the response he was expecting. “I don’t—people, feelings—I don’t want any of it. I want to live in the bunker with you and Sam, and I don’t care about the rest. You’re it.”

Cas reaches out and traces Dean’s cheek with his fingertips. “You do love correctly, by the way,” he whispers.

“Hmm.”

“Perhaps in the past I have felt unwanted by you, yes. But I never felt unloved.”

“Cas…”

“Shh, you’ve spent months apologizing.”

They study each other’s faces, and Cas continues to press his fingertips lightly to Dean’s skin.

“I’d like to kiss you, if it’s all right with you,” Cas says.

A smile slowly pulls at Dean’s lips, and he breathes out a laugh. He reaches out and pushes Cas’ hair back. “Yeah, Cas, it’s all right.”

When their lips meet, Dean makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat all lazy and slow like this is some eternal Sunday morning. He continues stroking his hair as he alternatively rolls Cas on top of him and wraps his free arm around his back. Cas, to his credit, keeps one hand on Dean’s face and the other over his heart. The rhythm under his palm is steady, calm, like watching rolling grass. 

The kiss deepens, and Dean pushes his head up and accidentally bumps their foreheads together. They pull away and laugh, and Dean grabs Cas’ hand and kisses his knuckles. “What’ll we tell Sam?” he asks.

“I’m sure he’ll know without us saying anything.”

“You think?”

“You’re not worried?”

Dean’s face softens, and he rubs his thumb playfully over Cas’ cheek. “No.”

They don’t kiss again. Cas rests his head on Dean’s chest, and they hold hands over Dean’s heart. Dean moves his thumb back and forth across the back of Cas’ hand like the ticking of a clock, a pendulum swinging.

“Your heart’s racing,” Dean says when Cas is half asleep.

“Nervous.”

“What? Why?”

“I didn’t allow myself to think about this until it happened.”

“Hey, look at me.” Cas does. “Nothing’s changed, all right?” He kisses Cas’ knuckles. “This is easy.”

A hundred thoughts run through Cas’ head, and he cannot control the rhythm of his beating heart.

He wishes he could describe the way in which Dean loves and how it makes him feel.

He can do neither, so he sleeps.

They kiss in the late afternoon when they wake. Dean presses a hand to Cas’ thigh and raises his eyebrows in question. Cas shakes his head no, and Dean kisses him with a smile as he removes his hand.

It happens gradually.

Dean doesn’t flinch when Cas rests his head on his shoulder while they check out of their room. He blindly reaches for Cas’ hand while he talks to the concierge, and Cas laces their fingers together and squeezes Dean’s bicep with his other hand. The concierge smiles at them.

They drive straight through to Lebanon, and they hold hands for the majority of the trip. It is both the most terrifying and casual experience of Cas’ life.

Dean carries both of their duffel bags into the bunker and straight to his room. “C’mere,” he mumbles as he grabs Cas’ hand and leads him to his bed.

Fully clothed, Dean drops into bed and pulls Cas’ arm around his waist. He is snoring within 30 seconds.

Sam comes in two minutes later and stops in the doorway. Cas holds a finger up to his mouth to make sure he stays quiet.

“Everything work out?” Sam whispers.

Cas nods.

“Good. You need anything?”

Cas shakes his head and scoots closer to Dean.

Sam smiles and shuts the door on his way out.

It happens gradually.

The tattoo of Cas’ heart against his chest slows as he sinks into sleep behind his friend.

Castiel knows falling, and this is not falling. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [deancasheadcanons](http://deancasheadcanons.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, and [this is my website.](https://maddmadeshop.com/)
> 
> Thanks to [Chandra](http://pecanpie.co.vu/) for beta reading this. 
> 
> [Rebloggable link](http://deancasheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/129250048141/staccato)
> 
> If you're wondering why Cas didn't want to have sex with Dean at the end, it's because a) it seemed out of place and b) it goes along with the "it happens gradually" theme.
> 
> Also, the title's due to the fact that this fic is purposely choppy and disjointed in rhythm. If you didn't notice that while reading, well....now you will.


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